Harry leapt from his bed, tossing his bed covers aside and hastily made his way to Ron. It took several shakes before Ron awoke from his slumber, though Neville, who had not been sleeping, was now curiously eyeing the pair of them.
“Watzit ‘Arry?” Ron mumbled out, still groggy from his interrupted sleep.
“We have to go!” Harry yelled, continuing to shake Ron with a sense of urgency.
“Alright already!” Ron muttered as he sat up and freed himself from Harry’s agitated grip.
“What’s going on?” Neville asked, aware that he had stumbled upon a matter of great importance.
“I need to speak with Hermione,” Harry informed the pair. “Now!” he added for emphasis.
“But how are you going to get into the girls dorm room, the stairs will just spit you back out,” Neville informed him.
Ron spared Neville a surprised glance, wondering how it was that Neville had come by this knowledge before returning his attention to Harry.
“How is it you contact her for you midnight outings?” Harry asked Ron, who seemed shocked by the accusation. “Right, don’t pretend that you don’t sneak out to see her after we’ve all gone to bed, you’re not the only one that can fake snore, you know?”
Ron grinned, his glowing red ears evident by the dim moonlight. He turned to his nightstand, opened the top drawer and withdrew a large familiar looking pin.
“Isn’t that for S.P.E.W.?” Neville asked.
Ron did not answer Neville’s question. Instead, he touched the tip of his wand to the coin and said “éveiller”. Harry caught Neville’s eye and they shared a moment of amusement.
“So she likes her French,” Ron said, pouting.
“I’ll bet,” Harry replied cheekily and Ron clobbered him with a pillow. Just then, the coin lit up with a bright light and went dim once more.
“She’s awake,” Ron told them.
“Let’s go,” Harry said, returning to his previous state of urgency.
As they ran down the spiral staircase Ron let out a series of sneezes that Harry thought were sure to wake up the entire dormitory. Once they had reached the bottom, Ron whispered, “Harry, I’ve just had an idea…”
“Well done,” Harry hissed, still agitated at Ron for making so much noise. Harry didn’t have time to hear Ron’s idea however, as Hermione entered the common room in a rush. Her eyes went wide when she saw the three of them waiting, though Harry did not give her an explanation, but rather an order, “Go get Ginny!”
She seemed surprised, but quickly did as she was told.
“Harry,” Ron said, trying awkwardly to speak with him away from Neville’s prying ears, “when I was sneezing I remembered…”
Though what he remembered, Harry would never learn. No sooner had Ron spoken than Harry’s eyes landed on Evan Bailey who was crouched behind a couch in front of the dying embers of the Common Room fireplace.
“Evan!” Harry yelled out sternly. Evan stood up almost at once, looking guiltily at Harry. “Get to your dorm,” Harry ordered, angry that he had once again found Evan out of bed during nighttime. Evan scrambled to obey, hastily running to the boys staircase. No sooner had he entered the boys’ staircase, then Hermione and Ginny came clobbering out of the girls’.
“Evan Bailey!” Ginny exclaimed, though slightly out of breath. “I forgot!”
Harry nodded, angry at himself for forgetting Evan Bailey’s nighttime encounter with Severus Snape two weeks prior.
“The Dementia Drought,” Ginny said, turning to Hermione for answers, “what does it do?”
“The Dementia Drought?” Hermione repeated, her eyes turning into saucers. “Why…”
“What does it do,” Harry reiterated Ginny’s question, feeling that there was no time to explain now why they needed to know about it.
“The Dementia Drought is as its name suggests,” Hermione began in her traditional textbook fashion. “It is a potion given in small quantities that causes the recipient to become frantic or paranoid. It clouds logic and reason, oftentimes leading to a complete loss of self identity.”
“How much needs to be given for that to happen?” Harry cut in.
“Not much at all,” Hermione responded.
“Is it about the size of a lemon drop?” Ginny asked, shooting Harry a horrified glance.
“Even less than that,” Hermione answered, “though a lemon drop would be an excellent concealment for the potion.”
“Why?” Neville asked, reminding them all of his presence.
“That is because the potion itself is quite strong and pungent. A lemon drop has a hard outer shell. I expect that the potion could easily be placed within it. Then that would make the person receiving it totally unaware that they are taking it. The smell would be encapsulated.”
“The Dementia Drought runs its course in two weeks,” Ginny said suddenly.
Hermione cast a startled glance at Ginny. “That’s correct.”
“What happens at the end of two weeks?” Harry asked.
Ginny looked to Hermione and shrugged to signal she did not know.
“At the end of two weeks,” Hermione started with a shudder, “the spell does one of two things. Either the person completely loses their mind and becomes, in a sense, ‘demented’. Or…”
“..or what?” Harry persisted.
“…or, they die.” Hermione whispered, fighting down the bile threatening to escape her throat. “It’s Dumbledore isn’t it?” she asked in a dismayed utterance.
Harry didn’t reply or wait to hear if Ginny would. He went careening from the Common Room with only one destination in mind. The sounds of running footsteps behind him signaled that the rest had followed his lead, though he took no heed of them. A cold sweat broke out onto his forehead, there was a sickening foreboding that he had never before experienced coursing though out his body. The fates seemed to help him slightly as he did not run into any authority figures, namely Snape and Filch, though neither of them could have stopped him from getting to his destination.
“Wombat Wafer!” Ron yelled as Harry approached the statue guarding the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. The statue shifted, allowing them just enough room to squeeze in and run up the revolving staircase. Dumbledore’s door was thrown open and his office was in a state of such disarray that Harry froze at the doorway and the others stumbled into him. Once he entered the office he spotted Dumbledore lying on a large stuffed couch of pure white, wearing a simple white cloak in place of his usual colorful one. His beard had gone almost entirely white since the last time Harry had seen him and the wrinkles on his face were more etched and pronounced than ever, though he had a serene look about his face. Although his eyes were closed, he seemed to sense their entry.
“Welcome,” Dumbledore said in a voice that was so strong and familiar, that Harry’s heart ached. “I knew you would come.”
Harry did not have time to make with the niceties, not while Dumbledore’s life hung in the balance. “You’ve been poisoned,” he quickly told Dumbledore before turning to look at Hermione for guidance. “What can we do to fight the Dementia Drought? Is there a potion? Is there a spell?”
Dumbledore cackled, but Harry ignored him. He kept his piercing stare fixed firmly on Hermione who was wringing her hands profusely and becoming increasingly fidgety.
“Now is not the time to lose it!” Harry yelled at her, but it seemed that she already had. Adrenaline rushed through his veins so quickly that he could hear it gushing against his eardrums like rapids pounding against a dam. He had to help Dumbledore. He had to find a way to save him. His eyeballs threatened to pop out of their socket as he looked around the room for anything that could be of aid. The sweat on his forehead trickled down in small beads down his face and he wiped it impatiently away.
“Harry…” Dumbledore said, his voice sounding distant and beseeching.
Harry did not look at his mentor. Instead, he faced his friends, all of whom stood just inside the doorway looking at Dumbledore as though all was lost. The longer Harry looked at them, the more infuriated he grew and the harder he tried to ignore Dumbledore’s pleas. He would not accept it, he could not accept it. Dumbledore was going to be fine. There was no reason for Hermione to be in tears. There was no reason Ron should look so pale and wide-eyed. Neville did not need to look so forlorn; there was no reason for that! Ginny…Harry could not bring himself to look at Ginny. Seeing pain in her eyes would shatter him and he could not go to pieces right now. His rage continued to grow steadily though, and he finally cast his gaze back to Dumbledore who was eyeing him sadly.
“Are you waiting die?” Harry asked in disbelief, edging closer to Dumbledore who began grinning happily, perhaps at finally being acknowledged. “Won’t you fight against those who betrayed you?” Harry continued certain that if he could just get Dumbledore’s ire up, the rest would magically take care of itself.
“Would you have me waste my last precious moments fighting when I should be rejoicing?” Dumbledore implored, casting his now startlingly hazy blue eyes towards Harry.
“Are you happy? Do you want to die?” Harry asked incredulously. He could not help feeling that Dumbledore was somehow betraying him. Though he badly wanted to believe that Dumbledore was still under the influence of the Dementia Drought, he knew better.
“Young Harry…I am no lad of sixteen years. I have lived…truly lived…and I am happy to have done so. So why not rejoice? Blessed as I have been, my life should be celebrated.”
“But you’re dying,” Harry said with tears welling up in his eyes and his throat becoming increasingly bothersome and scratchy.
“But we are all dying my dear boy!” Dumbledore proclaimed, “And when we die…as we must…we will all meet again and be reunited under better circumstances, I pray.”
“It was Snape,” Harry said bitterly as he went to kneel next to Dumbledore’s lofty couch, “he betrayed you.”
Dumbledore smiled sadly. “A wise man once said, ‘In prosperity our friends know us’,” he lifted his hand slightly and waved in the general direction of those standing behind Harry, “and ‘In adversity, we know our friends’.”
Harry felt his throat constrict and heat up all at once. When he felt he could take no more of the searing emotions wreaking havoc inside of him he felt the soft touch of Ginny’s hand on his shoulder and leaned against her leg.
“It was Voltara who betrayed Lily,” Dumbledore said, speaking exclusively to Ginny now.
“I had my suspicion,” she responded. “Although I’m sure she did not mean to at the time.”
“You are a clever young lady,” Dumbledore wheezed before a bout of coughs overtook him. He then continued, “I have always enjoyed the company of Volcens.”
“You should have married her,” Ginny whispered with a teasing smile.
“Truer words were never spoken,” Dumbledore said lightly. “I was a fool for never doing so. Promise me Ginny, you will not let such foolish sacrifices be made in the future.”
“I promise,” she said. Then, after a moment of hesitation, “About Gaia…”
Dumbledore was overtaken with another bout of coughs, though this time, what seemed to be blood appeared in the palm of his hand. “Gaia…” he wheezed, “Gaia is kinder than you could know. She has sacrificed her freedom to care for a stranger. Do not rest until you have found her.”
“The Order?” Hermione asked from somewhere behind Harry, and Dumbledore grinned once more.
“Let Remus Lupin lead the Order, he is most suited to do justice for everyone involved. I am afraid that there are tough times ahead of you,” Dumbledore said in a warning tone, “but victory is in the hands of those who patiently persevere and have faith. Faith, that they will safely delivered from the calamities that befall them, for we are all human and are sure to be tested.”
“Don’t die,” Harry pleaded to his mentor.
Dumbledore looked at him, this time with a gaze so compassionate that tears began to streak down Harry’s face. “Would that I could give you my soul,” he whispered gently, “but then you would have one too many.”
Dumbledore smiled a soft, kind smile, and then went still. The gulf of tears threatening to overcome Harry flowed in streams from his eyes and from those around him. Ginny knelt beside Harry and hugged him to her fiercely as they shared in each others grief.
“It was his time,” she whispered, “It was his time.”
In Adversity We Know Our Friends by Wise Owl
Chapter Notes: Okay let's try putting this chapter up again!